


Each Step Further

by McFearo, meanoldauthor



Category: Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Alternate Universe of an Alternate Universe, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, These dorks love each other a lot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:48:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26667706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/McFearo/pseuds/McFearo, https://archiveofourown.org/users/meanoldauthor/pseuds/meanoldauthor
Summary: A short 'what if' story of the Deserters AU, examining if the boys had met in the Legion.
Relationships: Male Courier/Original Male Character(s)
Kudos: 5





	Each Step Further

They met first as children, in a camp in New Mexico.

The smiths had him carrying buckets of water to them from the stream, filling a basin where they oversaw slaves scrubbing hides. He wasn't a slave—yet, the men had told him. He would be, if he slowed, or refused to work, or answered anything but _yes, sir_ to any man who spoke to him.

They told him he would be made a slave if he said his old name. The women had patted him on the back as they cut his hair to the scalp, watched the tears stream down his face as he fought not to make a sound. _There is a brave boy named Marius,_ they had said. _He is strong and capable, and will grow up to be a warrior of the Legion. If you can pretend to be him…_

So after two weeks of traveling south, he was called Marius, and did his best to forget the old name, and worked without respite so he wouldn't be hit.

But with every trip he made, the bucket seemed heavier, the rope handle even rougher. The sky darkened to a shade that indicated true evening, and his stomach growled. He had to drag the bucket along, now as heavy as he was. Finally, he stopped, and had to clench his teeth to keep from crying as he looked at his blistered hand.

Marius almost jumped out of his skin as someone grabbed his wrist. "Don't stop moving. They mean it, about beating you for not working."

The rope was pressed back into his hands, and someone shoved him forward. Marius turned to scowl at him, and the other boy pushed him again. "Keep walking! The day's almost over, but it will be easier if you don't think about it," he said, taking the handle to walk beside him. He was of a height with Marius, with black hair cut to the scalp like his, but against much paler skin. He looked over with sharp gray eyes as Marius gave him a sullen look. "Just keep putting one foot in front of the other. Don't worry about dinner or when your job will be done. Just your next step."

"I'm tired," Marius said—but not loudly.

"You'll get over it," the other boy said. He helped him tip the bucket into the basin, the slaves around it not even looking at them. He let Marius take it back, empty, and immediately steered him back towards the water. "What's your name?"

"What's _your_ name, bossy boy?" Marius said, too tired to be irritable. "Don't you have some other work they'll beat you for not doing?"

"Yes," he said frankly, with a level look in his eye. "But you're new, so they would have made an example of you. And Damianus is my name."

"Marius," he said, with little enthusiasm. Damianus walked with him to the stream, and he paused before wading in to fill the bucket. "Will I stay here, or will they send me south again?"

Damianus shrugged, higher up the bank. "I don't know. Be useful and they might keep you."

Marius nodded to him, turning back to the water. By the time he stood to make the trudge back, Damianus was gone, disappearing deeper into camp.

Marius just put this head down, focusing on placing one foot in front of the other.

They saw each other, from time to time, the boys set to tasks that were beneath the dignity of the men. He found he did work harder, did make himself useful, to stay here—and stay close to the first person who had done him any kindness, since he had been told his new name.

***

When they met again, they were teenagers. Only barely; the line between children and men old enough to fight was a fine one, in the Legion.

Marius almost didn't recognize him, in the training camp at White Sands. But he hesitated as Marius stared, finally beckoning him over. He was startled to realize he was taller than him now—somehow Damianus' quiet competence had left the impression of him being larger than he was.

A tall, shockingly blond recruit watched them sidelong as they talked, and Marius refused to acknowledge him. "Congratulations, decanus," Marius said, gesturing to the helmet he had tucked under his arm. "It suits you. You were always trying to lead the other kids."

Damianus demurred a little, the tall boy starting to grin unpleasantly at them. "It's nothing that any of us couldn't earn, with effort," Damianus said, but he looked away as he did. "We should all strive to. And you? You're an explorer now?"

"Courier," Marius said with no little pride. "I've been running the New Mexico trails alone for over a month now."

They exchanged a few more words, and Marius found himself reluctant to leave. But the tall recruit had started to snicker, and Marius pulled his hood up to hide how hot his ears felt. "And if I can make an observation, decanus," he said, not looking at him. "Your man there has something stuck in his throat. I'm afraid the only way I know to deal with it is to beat it out of him, so hopefully you have more finesse to offer."

"Oh, that's just a problem Erasmus has," Damianus said, a little thin-lipped. "We're still trying to find a treatment that sticks."

He heard Damianus hiss at him after Marius turned away, and Erasmus guffawed back, "You should have just kissed him and gotten it over with."

Mortified, Marius ducked his head and walked faster.

***

They met next as Legionaries.

Or rather, they saw each other, fleetingly, when Marius’ messenger routes took him to the forward camps, but there was little time to do more than nod or exchange a quick word. With Caesar’s Legion pushing past New Mexico and into Texas, they were taking land and tribes at a speed that left them exhausted. One tribe had been eradicated that day, and considered a good win, with only a handful of Legion lives lost.

With no formal unit to report to, and no one he felt worth his time, Marius wandered the edge of camp for somewhere to set up his own tent. He paused at movement behind a boulder that marked the boundary of the site. Creeping closer, he saw the decanus’ helmet on the ground beside him, and relaxed as Damianus glanced over. He had a cold, remote look on his face as Marius approached, a few fresh cuts at his hairline, barely scabbed over. He didn't react as Marius settled on his other side, looking out over the desert.

After a long silence, he started to talk. They had lost a man. _Damianus_ had lost a man, even as he survived the same grenade; had charged towards his squadmate to pull him out of the way, but too late. Vito's body had absorbed the explosion enough that Damianus had gotten away with nothing but scratches.

Marius was quiet, letting the words flow out of him, speaking of failure, guilt, and pain; that their contubernia already had a man to take his place. “We’re just supposed to pretend it didn’t happen,” he said, eyes open but unseeing. All Marius could do was reach to put this arm over his shoulders, as Damianus whispered, "I hate this."

“I’m sorry,” he said, and with hesitation, leaned his head against his. Damianus tensed, but leaned into it after a moment, and Marius felt the stubble on his scalp catch on his own hair, long enough to tie back. He didn’t complain, even as he shook his head. “You’re too kind a man for this.”

Damianus pulled away. “I’m not so sentimental that it interferes with my duty,” he said, a little brusque. “But I care about my men. Any leader should.”

Marius leaned his elbows on his crossed legs. In his experience, most leaders didn’t. "If you want rid of it, I can try and put in a word with the Frumentarii," he said, almost whispering. "You're good with people, handsome. They like that in their spies."

“I won’t abandon my brothers,” he said, then frowned. There was a long pause where a blush crept up his cheeks, until Damianus finally said, more quietly. "Handsome?"

And there was a longer one still, before Marius said back, "Yes."

They stared at each other, before Marius abruptly stood to walk away.

***

Their next meeting was as lovers.

They continued as they had, largely, taking what chance meetings they could get to talk, seeking one another out on the rare days Marius was in camp, and Damianus had time at liberty. But they were moments only, with Damianus’ contubernia usually nearby, or eyes all around them in a crowded mess tent.

It made it very difficult, as Marius came to realize how much Damianus had matured, shoulders filling out, face grown into handsome angles, his lips…

He thought far too much about his lips.

And it only got more difficult, when he caught Damianus looking at him with the same sort of appraisal in his eye.

He had overheard the names of the men on watch, that night, and idly walked the perimeter of camp, like any sentry doing a round. A couple of guards gave him guilty looks, caught napping on their feet, and he just scowled back, silent. They knew he was a Frumentarius, and who he might report to, and it was reason enough not to question him.

One of them, however, turned to him as he approached—and smiled, if slightly. “You weren’t on the roster tonight.”

Glancing around to make sure none of the others were in sight, Marius leaned in close, cradling the back of Damianus’ head as he kissed him. He put his hands up in surprise, just for a moment, only to grasp his waist and pull him closer.

Furtively, they slid down the hill surrounding the camp, into a stand of scrubby desert trees—barely cover, but on an overcast night, would do. What followed was impatient, almost frantic in the eagerness in which they touched each other, too rushed to do anything more satisfying than take the other in his hands, still dressed. They knelt there after, Damianus panting like he had been running as he held him, and Marius nuzzled up against his neck, trailing a finger over the inside of his thighs. “I think I love you.”

Damianus breathed against his neck, somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. “So do I,” he whispered, with a feather-light touch that made Marius bite his lip and shiver. “I need…”

“More,” Marius murmured, kissing up under his jaw.

Gently, Damianus pushed him away. “To get back to my post before I’m found missing.”

“Alright,” Marius said, helping him settle his clothes, hands shaking at the tenderness of getting to touch him, almost more nervous than during their mad scramble down the hill. He looked into his eyes as he turned away, suddenly full of yawning need—not for sex, or not only that, but a need to be near him, to hold him, to feel hands on him that he wanted there… And to make him feel the same.

“Alright,” he said again, and Damianus pulled him close for one last, lingering kiss, tinged with regret. “Go back up, be seen by the next patrol,” he said, stepping deeper into the trees—and undoing the laces on his armor. He grinned at Damianus’ look. “Then come find me.”

***

They met like that less often than they liked, and whenever they could. It became habit to ignore each other in camp, as cover, only meeting whenever they could sneak away to privacy.

They talked, as much as anything, in these stolen hours. Told stories about the places they had been, people they had met; mused aloud about their futures. Marius daydreamed in between, about a day where they didn’t need to hide, where he didn’t have to worry that he would find Sunsetter, or, perhaps Marcellus in Damianus’ helmet, just to tell him he had been killed in battle. Erasmus was out of the question, who still winked at him and leered behind Damianus’ back, but who Marius would sometimes see on watch and slyly point him out of camp.

But Marius never said a word of his worries to Damianus, keeping that heartache to himself, but saw in some of the looks he gave him that Damianus felt it, too.

Holding him one night, he traced a finger over a new scar on his shoulder, a burn. Damianus had climbed into a burning building to pull out children trapped inside—to offer them to the slave masters, ostensibly, but Marius kissed around it, up to the side of his neck. “You’re too kind for this,” he breathed into his ear.

“I’m what I need to be,” he said, running a hand up his back. They had found an abandoned shack in the town the Legion had overrun, and taken advantage of the shelter to linger over one another as they undressed, luxuriating in the feeling of skin on skin. “I’m fighting for you as much as anything, Marius. We’ll stay alive to find each other.”

He took a breath against the heartbreak. “I hate that you need to,” he said. “I mean it. I’ll tell my superiors how you handled that tribe. Get you off the front lines.”

“It’s where I belong,” he said, hands still wandering.

“Is it?” Marius whispered, holding him in the circle of his arms, Damianus’ legs around his waist. He looked into his eyes until they finally softened in understanding, and he met him halfway, sealing it with a kiss.

***

They met next to say goodbye.

Damianus had found civilian clothes that fit, jeans and a red hooded shirt. Not a Legionary, at a glance, but any man from the Legion would recognize him as one. Standing at the edge of camp, a few men gave him curious looks at the change, his contubernia already going back to their tent after seeing him off.

He was too composed to cry, but Damianus looked at Marius with a hard, level expression that he fought to return. As the only other Frumentarius in camp, it was his duty to send him away, even as his heart broke. “This is outdated, but it’s the best we have, to get you as far as the Hub,” Marius said, passing him a map with a pen folded in it. “The Mojave Express is your best bet to keep you coming and going from the region regularly, we’ve established two other agents in it. Find their office and we can get you more orders, in time.”

“I will,” Damianus said, letting his fingers brush his as he took it. “My pack’s gotten a little heavy for the trip,” he said, abruptly. “I was wondering if you could take this off my hands.”

“Of course,” Marius said, voice as steady as he could keep it. It was just a short throwing knife, hardly any weight at all, and he had to swallow before tucking it into his belt. “Safe travel, Damianus. Mars’ eyes are on you.”

He only nodded back, eyes misted as he turned for the Long 15.

This wasn’t how it should have gone.

But Marius watched him go, as close to safety as he could get him. He didn’t care who stared as he waited until Damianus was almost out of sight—and watched his steps falter, as he opened the map, read what was inside, short and simple and written in deliberately readable print.

For just a moment, Marius wished he would come running back.

He knew it was safer that he didn’t.

***

There was no next meeting, not for a long time. Steady, dark-haired Sunsetter became the head of Damianus' contubernia, and Marius stopped to speak with them when the opportunity arose. He was not close to any of them, particularly, but they were something to hold on to, that reminded him of Damianus—and some of them tolerable to spend time with. Erasmus, in particular, saw it as his sole purpose in life to heckle Marius to the point of fury, but was always the one who called him over, asking for news.

He had no friends in the Legion, when it came down to it. People who allowed his company were a close enough substitute.

But he brought them rumors of Damianus, through the Frumentarii. He had gone as far north as New Reno, gone as far west as the ocean, even as far south as Baja. The intelligence he sent back was shaping the Legion’s understanding of the NCR, making their war in the Mojave a near-certain victory, even with the disaster at the Divide.

So certain, Marius was stuck with the unenviable task of running messages to outposts in the Utah wasteland. A skeleton centuria held the region, barely enough to keep raiders from rising up—but orders still needed to be passed along, even as the rest of the Legion mobilized for war, as he departed Arizona.

When he returned, it was to a fraction of their fighting force, hushed and demoralized.

There was no list of dead, no public mourning. The survivors were still reorganizing as he wandered through the Fort, asking for names, for which centuria had been lost. All was hearsay, guesswork, but the answers he found made his heart sink.

He found another Frumentarius gearing up to head West, to find their contacts in the Mojave. Marius handed him a sheaf of orders headed to Flagstaff and told him there was a change in assignment, and Marius was to take his place. Still tired and shaken, and hardly old enough to shave, the man just nodded and stuffed the papers into his pack.

The Legion’s safehouse in the south of the Mojave was nearly abandoned, after their rout at Boulder. Marius swept it for radroaches and other pests as he settled in to wait. His orders did not require it—he could have just left the written orders there, to be found by their recipients—but claiming he was there to emphasize the intolerance of Joshua Graham’s failure would have to be bluff enough.

To his slight disappointment, the first two couriers didn’t even ask. Their orders were the same: maintain your cover. Draw no attention. Keep gathering information. He took what they had to offer in reconnaissance and sent them on their way.

The third held him like a drowning man, kissed him like there was no other taste in the world that could satisfy him. Marius lost himself in it, only pulling away when Damianus’ hands drifted, asking for something that felt wrong with the news he brought. His voice caught as he told him, holding Damianus tight as he words sank in.

“None of them,” he whispered against Damianus’ hair when he asked, again, if there was any chance. “I’m so sorry. They led the charge into Boulder. They were…” _Brave,_ Caesar would want him to say. Obedient. In bed with him, curled up around him as he cried, the words were repulsive. “Graham wasted them on this stupid war. And I don’t want the same to happen to you.”

“I wish it had!” he said, voice raw through the sobs. “I should have been there. I should have died with them. They were my brothers…”

There was a cold, cold feeling in Marius’ chest as he held him tighter. "You think they would want you to die?"

"I think…" Damianus trailed off, hiccuping as he tried to breathe. "I abandoned them. I could have—I should—"

"You couldn't have changed anything," Marius said, even as his own tears ran. Damianus shook his head, frustration as much as denial, and Marius pulled him closer, tucking him to his chest. He murmured into his hair, "You're too kind for this. You always have been. You have so much love in you, that's wasted in the Legion." More softly, like there was someone to overhear, he whispered, "Run away with me."

It took a moment for Damianus to shake his head, twisting to look up at him. “I know exactly how far Caesar’s hooks go in the West,” he said. “It wouldn’t work. They’d find us. I wouldn’t trade the week we’d have together, knowing what would happen to you.”

Marius kissed his eyes, red and swollen from crying. “I’d risk it, for that much time as real people. I’d rather die a free man—”

“You wouldn’t,” Damianus said, harsh. “And I won’t lose you, too.”

“You don’t know that. There’s nothing keeping us—”

“Are you glad they’re dead, then?”

 _"No,"_ Marius said, sorrow in the word. Damianus looked away, ashamed, and he kissed his forehead again. "I am only relieved you're alive."

"You, too," Damianus said, kissing him back. "But if you keep talking like that, neither of us will be."

He tried to make his case several times, that night. But Damianus was adamant, and finally, they fell asleep in one another's arms, still somehow apart despite their closeness.

***

Their next meeting was as strangers.

Three years had seen the Legion rebuild itself, at least enough to begin serious forays into NCR territory. The Frumentarii combed through their ranks of couriers and infiltrators alike, looking for men who—as Marius had told Damianus, a lifetime ago—were handsome, charismatic, and above all, loyal to the Legion.

Marius had the first two, and could fake the third. He and one other man were sent to Hub to enlist, both with forged papers and orders to seek out one of their deep-cover agents, when the time came; a first lieutenant already in the Mojave. It was easy enough to fake being a country kid seeing the city for the first time, the buildings of the old and rebuilt city staggering, the crush of people even greater than Flagstaff.

He kept his eyes and ears open, listening to accents and turns of phrase, quietly building the look and sound of Alex Rojas in his head. A drifter, he decided; that would be easy to justify the lack of family, of connections. Perhaps from the northern parts of the NCR, paying his way with repair work, until word reached him of the regular meals and steady, if modest pay to be found in the Army.

No one so much as blinked at his papers at the recruitment office. The staff there was as tired and worn as the building itself, a ceiling fan creaking as it wobbled, off-center. The woman at the front desk handed him his papers with directions to meet the caravan to the training camp—and with a look of regret, wished him luck.

Word had already reached him, of the attrition the NCR was facing in the Mojave, between local threats and the Legion forming up along the Colorado River. His training was to be all of a month, and even that wasn’t guaranteed, before they were shipped out to face it.

A better Legionary would have been proud. Marius just looked at the determined, eager faces of the other young people in the back of the truck—an actual, functioning truck!—and felt sorry for them.

The training itself was trivial, to someone who had endured the Legion since childhood. A better Legionary would have sneered at them, privately, for their soft Western lives. Marius could only think back to Damianus as a child, helping him even as he risked punishment himself, and encouraged them at every turn.

A better Legionary wouldn’t have made friends of them. A better Legionary would have taken their camaraderie as one more layer of cover, as he worked to sabotage them later. But god help him, they welcomed him with open arms and not a second thought.

He accompanied some of them back into town shortly before their deployment, sending and receiving letters from friends in the Mojave. Their free time was limited as trainees, making trips like this a luxury—and one Marius made at every opportunity. He had considered inventing an acquaintance in Redding, to visit the courier office more often, but the risk of being found out was too great.

So he followed his friends on their last visit to the Mojave Express office, for no apparent reason than he wanted to spend time with them. He breathed deep as he stepped into the building, reminded himself that the odds of them both being in the same place were long—that even in the NCR, roads could be perilous.

His friends went to the counter as he hung back, casually looking over the room. A handful of people waited in line in the stuffy office as a woman chatted with the clerk, and a man at a table labored over addressing a package. Leaning against the wall, it was just enough to block Marius’ view of the rest of the counter, until the man at the table nodded at his parcel and stepped into line.

For just a second, the bottom dropped out of Marius’ world. He wasn’t sure how long he stared at the man sorting through a pile of mail, reading addresses with the slow deliberation of a man late to his letters. The last few years had hardly changed him, still with his head shaved close, lips moving a little as he read—and his eyes hidden behind a pair of thick glasses that Marius had teased him for, if gently; remembered trying them on for Damianus to laugh at, as they lay in bed one night.

It wasn’t until Perez wandered back to him, tearing an envelope open, that Marius was able to breathe. “You seen a ghost, man?” Marius couldn’t put a sentence together, and Perez followed his gaze just to turn back and grin. “What, you never seen a cute boy before? I’m hurt, I really am, you never look at me like that.”

He cackled as Marius flushed, some of the others coming to wait with them. “You want me to ask him out for you?” Warner said, with an impish grin.

“No—I’m…” He tugged his jacket straighter, nervous fidgeting more than preparation to go speak to him. His hands slowed as he remembered their last parting.

“God, you’re useless,” Perez said, giving him a little shake. “You want to meet him for drinks tonight, right?”

“Yeah—no—I can…” Marius barred his way with an arm, smoothing his hair with his other hand. Perez gave him a thumbs-up as he started walking, and he willed his heart to stop pounding.

Damianus didn’t look up as he approached, still fixed on the letters. Marius cleared his throat. “Excuse me, do you have a moment?”

“Sorry, if you have something to drop off, the clerk can take it,” he said automatically. Something seemed to click after a second, and he looked up slowly.

“No, it’s just… Have we met before?” Marius said, putting his elbows on the counter to lean closer to his level. He bit his lip a little, nervous, before he grinned. “I swear we have, I would never forget a face like yours.”

“I…” Damianus nearly dropped the letters, barely managing to close his mouth. “I, uh. I don’t think we have. I would have…”

“Really?” Marius said, tipping his head as he rubbed his hands together, slowly. “Oh, I’m sorry to bother you, then. If I really haven’t seen you before, though, you must be new in town?”

“I’m—relatively, yes,” Damianus said, starting to flush. He smiled, almost overwhelmed, as he added, “I mostly just pass through, with work.”

“So you’re a courier? That sounds fascinating, you must have so many stories,” Marius said, reaching to touch his arm—lightly, so lightly, just resting his fingertips on his skin. He felt goosebumps rise under them. “I’d love to get a chance to talk, but you’re working right now… Maybe if you wanted to meet up tonight, I’m free? Could show you around, have a couple drinks?”

He stared at him a moment, dropping his eyes as he smiled and took a breath. “You know, I’m due a break tonight.” He looked up again, almost shyly, as he said, “I would love to.”

“It’s a date,” Marius said, smiling. “I didn’t get your name,” he added, holding out his hand.

“Dixie Greene,” he said, taking it. “Yours?”

“Alex. Alex Rojas,” he said, trailing a finger against his palm as he let go. Damianus had to suppress a shiver, and Marius winked as he straightened. “I look forward to seeing you tonight, Dixie.”

“Likewise,” he said, still visibly flustered.

Marius turned away, and the troopers with him had the grace to hide their smiles and congratulations until they were outside. “You smooth bastard!” Perez said, nearly knocking him over as he thumped him on the back. “I thought you’d choke hard, but I damn well learned a thing or two.”

He ducked his head, sheepish, let them rib him as they headed on a few more errands in their free time. He daydreamed through it, a step away from reality, unable to stop thinking about the way Damianus had looked at him, his smile, the feeling of his hand in his. How much just seeing him had been like letting go a breath he'd been holding for years.

The others prodded him out of his reverie enough to learn he didn’t have nice civilian clothes to go drinking in, and dragged him to a shop for a clean shirt and pair of pants without holes. He laughed as they did, touched—and realizing he had spent his entire adult life assuming his peers hated him. Marius clasped Perez’s hand as he prepared to go back into town that night, leaving him a little puzzled at how sincerely he thanked him for his friendship.

He saw Damianus before he saw him, waiting outside the Express office. He still had that same red shirt on, and jeans loose enough to hide the brace on his leg. He spotted Marius as he approached, face breaking into a warm smile that felt like coming home.

“I’m glad you took me up on my offer, Mr. Greene,” Marius said, holding out his hand. Damianus did the same, seeming to expect another shake, but Marius took just his fingers in his and swept it up to his lips for a peck on the back of it. “Have you eaten? There’s a place that does amazing baozi not far from here, my treat.”

He only had the vaguest sense of the town, midway between the outskirts of Hub and the NCR training grounds, but the other trainees had only been too happy to recommend where to go. Damianus kept up the fiction of the two of them as strangers, calling him Alex, asking where he was from, about his time further north. Marius was happy to lean into it, inventing wild stories on the fly just to make Damianus snort into his dinner. In turn, he asked just as eagerly about his time as a courier, and Damianus filled in the missing years as Marius listened, hanging on his every word.

They wandered through what the town considered night life, the two of them sneaking little touches on one another’s hands and shoulders, being coy, discreet. Flirting, wooing each other the way Marius wished they could have done from the start. Every touch made his stomach flip, after so long away, and seeing Damianus laugh and smile as he talked was a joy of its own.

It was like being a real person, instead of whatever the Legion had made them. Sitting in the quiet corner of a bar, he tried to lose himself in it, in seeing the thoughtful, kind young man that Damianus had never been allowed to be. It was almost like falling in love with him all over again.

And as Damianus stared back at him across the table, during a lull in the conversation that neither of them noticed, caught up in the other’s gaze, he realized that was exactly what it was.

A little tipsy, Marius offered to walk him to a hotel—the only one in town, and hardly difficult to find—and see him to a room. Damianus was already too flushed for another to show, but accepted, letting Marius offer an arm as they headed across town.

Genteelly, he stopped at the door to his room, letting Damianus unlock it and step in. He leaned on the door frame and smiled warmly as he said, “Shall we say goodnight, Mr. Greene?”

His only response was to grab the collar of his shirt, pulling him down to a kiss that made Marius’ knees go weak. He let Damianus draw him inside by it, kicking the door shut as he went.

He wasn’t sure how much time passed, but they spent it consumed with the other, relishing the privacy, the feeling that morning might never come, as far as they cared. That for once, their time was theirs, to do with as they saw fit, and had no fear of what might find them.

Little was said until they finally lay there, exhausted in a way that left Marius feeling warm and soft down to his bones. The only light was from the orange floodlights outside, falling in strips through the curtains and painting the room in soft, unreal colors. It felt like so like a dream that Marius closed his eyes, trying to fix the feeling of Damianus’ body against his in his memory; of how they moved against each other, of every shiver and gasp becoming a wordless litany of _I love you, I love you._

Laying back at last with a sigh, Marius smoothed his hair from his face, eyes closed lest he open them and find it had all been a dream. Before he even registered the words, he whispered, “Run away with me.” 

Silence, except the sheets rustling. Settling beside him, Damianus reached over, trailing a finger up his side. Worn out by their night, Marius couldn’t even shiver at the touch. But Damianus said nothing, and Marius rolled his head on the pillow to look at him—and remembered how they had last parted, breath catching. Beside him, Damianus was propped up on an elbow, those gray eyes heavy-lidded. He was still touching him slowly, and Marius laced his fingers through his as he said— _pleaded,_ “Don’t make me leave you again.”

He drew Marius’ hand up, tucking it under his chin. Damianus took a breath, and Marius’ stomach dropped, waiting for his refusal. He could feel his voice hum in his throat as he said, softly, “You have to promise me one thing, first.”

All he could do was stare, not believing. “Anything.”

Damianus looked up through his lashes, making Marius’ heart beat faster. “I want every night of my life to feel like this one.”

When the words sank in, it was like some tension had let go in his heart, one that had grown so familiar he no longer paid it any mind. At a loss, Marius leaned over to kiss him, pressing Damianus back against the pillows. He surrendered to it, working his fingers into his hair and holding him there until they were both out of breath, leaving Marius to lay there chest-to-chest and nuzzle at the side of his face.

“You have so much love to give, I will be there at every step to give it back to you,” he whispered, lips brushing his ear. Damianus wrapped his arms around him, warm against the night. “I promise I will fall in love with you again every day, for the rest of our lives, and hope it’s long enough.”


End file.
